Firenight
by TAves
Summary: The infamous red raiders have come, and Misaki's life is erased - but not before she glimpses their leader. Caught in an emotional tempest, she embarks on a journey for revenge, however, the man who'd destroyed her life seemed more than she'd bargained for. !Pirate(?)Fic
1. Chapter 1

A/N Unedited spontaneity. I apologise if parts of this become unreadable as a result, but I will endeavor to go back and edit this only when it's finished because it'll impact my productivity severely otherwise.

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Firenight

The raiders came in the thick of the night. The sails on their masts were red, and glowed faintly with the reflected light of the fire flickering off the boughs of trees. The night was strangely silent. Surely swords had been drawn, or if not swords, pitchforks, for the raiders had attacked a small village. Easy pickings, safe loot, enough to tide over the unprofitable winter until the seas and the seasons favoured richer grounds.

But the only sound in the darkness was the gentle crackle of burning wood as houses burned. The raiders departed as silently as they had came, leaving behind a charred ring to mark their passage over the razed village.

No one should have survived. From the upper coast to Unidale to the lower shores of Acnorage villages have simply vanished off the map – people, culture, buildings, history reduced to ash. The red sails, and the first fire tipped arrow grazing the bough of a tree, the sight of a swan-necked hull sweeping into the harbour: they became omens for annihilation. An absolute power commanded by invisible warriors who swept in the night and vanished with a village.

Yet, from the circle of ash and the burned remains of bones, a woman knelt on soot stained knees and wept. The skin of her hands were raw and peeling and sharp scratches marred her arms. The wounds were fresh.

 _Who are you? What are you?_

The Devil that led them. She'd seen his face. A sharp face, shrewd, with a sly smirk on thin lips. Blond hair had framed his face like a mockery of a halo. The eyes she recalled with a vivid emotional whiplash of hate and raw, throbbing pain in her heart for all she had lost. Good humoured, intelligent eyes, the emerald irises flashing like a spot of vitality across the death and blood spilled. Those same eyes that watched dispassionately, a light of amusement flickering as her home burned.

Her hands clenched, the raw nubs where her nails had been stinging in the sooty air. She'd wanted to claw those taunting green eyes out, a last desperate lunge because she knew she was about to die. When she'd laid there, spread on the ground, her nails torn on the scales of his gauntlet, she'd looked at that beautiful face and her will was bent into loathing. A sense of triumph as she glimpsed the flash of red steel from the firelight descend. _Mother, Suzuna... I can't live without you._

When the sword stopped it felt like betrayal. A desperate surge of energy prompted her to lunge and catch the edge of a thick leather coat. The returning look of pity stung her, disintegrated her pride.

"Woman, I will not disgrace myself by killing someone who is already dead," he stated. The blond man turned away, shook her off like some cur or beggar.

The raiders gathered silently in a circle about their leader and they left for the ships. She was left to embrace the dirt, broken, devoid of the life she had been living, the quaint weatherboard house she should have inherited. She wept for her friends, for Suzuna, for the life that was wiped away as surely as the village.

She knew that as the news spread – when relatives failed to turn up to a seasonal gathering, the concerned faimly would whisper to the postmen for news, who would deliver them faithfully to the paperboy. The paperboy would add a note or two inquiring after some missings persons, and when someone connected that all these people seemed to have originated from a specific geographic location, the cartographers would be called and the place would be struck off the map.

A red cross to mark the red raiders.

The government, affeared, would then issue new maps, so the crosses numbered only one or two on any one map. Not many were fooled. It would not serve a chief to be ignorant, the portly Master of their village would say while chewing the end of a wooden pipe. On clear days he would look worriedly at the accumulating crosses. His jaw worked faster, on those days. Recently he'd had to replace his pipe twice in the week.

He and his pipe were indistinguishable from each other now.

Who was she? Ayuzawa Misaki. A meaningless name. She'd grown up on the soil she was kneeling, raised by the people who were now ash. Even the tall poplar by which Suzuna and her had made their first childhood promise on the mystical properties of hooked pinkies had vanished, remnants of trunk buried beneath a mound of black.

 _Yes, he was right. I am dead. Ayuzawa Misaki is dead. I am Misa. Misa with no last name, because Misa has no history. Misa simply is._

Misa stood on shaky legs. She was on a charred patch of ground, her clothing was gritty and uncomfortable. Dimly, she could recall the remembered softness of freshly laundered fabric clinging to her skin. She shook her head and the sensation vanished.

She looked around herself, eyes wondering. The world seemed bleak. A dull ache throbbed with each rhythmic beat in her heart.

She was calm.

A single purpose drove the blood through her veins, worked the muscles that kept her upright. Revenge. She wanted it, wanted to tear those beautiful green eyes from their sockets. Cover the blond hair with the soot of her village. Her body trembled, but her legs were steady. They took her down an untouched path she thought she'd never use. That path where every few years, a person she knew well would vanish down, sometimes to reappear with lavish good and rarities from the corners of the world.

Revenge. She hefted an imaginary blade in her hand and smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Whoa, I'm absolutely overwhelmed by the response to the last chapter! I'll do my best to live up to these expectations, though the build up will take a little while. No apologies for the cliffy :) because this'll be updated fairly frequently.

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Firenight

Chapter 2

"Misa? That is all? Just Misa? Hm." The man took off his glasses and rubbed his neck-cloth over it with a weary swipe. He perched the spectacles back on his nose and frowned. "Well, well, well. Misa then, is that right. That was not a question, Misa with no last name. We do not care about names here, as long as you can wield a blade, preferably with the pointy end towards the enemy."

"I know who our enemy is."

A vague smile ghosted over the man's lips. "Oh do you now? Ha! Youth." He made a few finishing flourishes with the feathered pen and handed Misa a slip of paper.

"Mi-sa," he enunciated slowly, and grinned.

Misa stepped back. His eyes were milky, strangely devoid even as he looked straight at her. She took the proffered paper. On it was written simply 'Misa'. The kanji was wrong, the version the registrar wrote meant 'four eggs'. She wondered if it was his notion of humour.

She was about to ask him where she would go next, but was stopped by a crooked finger.

"Through the second entrance, up the stairs and through the curtains. First door to your left." The bony hand folded back into the man's lap and his vacant eyes averted, giving Misa the distinct impression of dismissal.

A low flush rose to her cheeks. It was embarrassing, being treated like a child. A child did not experience what she had and remain a child. Maybe she came from a remote coastal town that no one felt the absence of apart from herself. Maybe she marveled at the fitted and smooth stone of the buildings, or the care of presentation in the precisely parallel edges of the paved roads. Or the cloths, richly embroidered and patterned with an artistry her family had never been able to afford.

She felt out of place here. The women wore skirts that tripped them as they walked – long impractical things that caught on every stone and snag in the roads. The men carried parasols, and talked loudly with each other with affected accents. Her simple woolens and country slang made her overly conscious, and as she kept her eyes trained on the ground as she walked.

The palace only seemed more alien. At the foot of a barbed gate stood two men clad in cloth and feathers.

"Excuse me-" she started.

Cloth and feathers shifted, revealing a thin layer of chain underneath. _Armour,_ she realised, and gaped.

The men caught sight of her. One grabbed the other, and whispered into an ear.

"You came from Old Man Ohc, yes?" the left one called. "Just follow the hedge until you get to the stairs, it's right through the red curtain. The second door you see."

The gates cranked open, the shadow of the bars washing over her face like some giant bird. She swallowed and walked into the sunlit yard. She could feel the gaze of the guards pressing into her back. Was it because she was a woman? Lips tightening, she straightened and walked briskly in.

She found the stairs with no trouble. The building was curiously empty.

At the head of the staircase was a large velvet curtain. She pushed it aside with trepidation, the weight of the fabric making her feel like an intruder.

A narrow hallway confronted her. The walls and floors were carpeted in red, and a row of doors ran along the left edge. Was she in the right place? These were not the barracks she had expected, nor the face of a kingdom facing the homicide of its people via unannounced raids. A surge of anger rose in her. Perhaps it was truly as if it had never happened. The reissue of maps was another propaganda scheme. There would be no accountability. The richness of the city, built from the soil her family worked, would be shamelessly attributed to the pale soft hands of the nobility.

Fists clenched, she knocked twice. Loudly.

The door flew open and a bright eyed young girl with closely cropped brown hair bounded out. "Hello! Hello! What do you want? Fame? Glory? You've come to the right place, come in!" Misa could only manage a small gasp as she was pulled inside the doorway by the sleeve of her shirt.

"Marvelous, you have the papers already. Don't worry, you don't need to sign, we deal with the illiterate all the time, I'd say it's become part of the job description now. Communication via speech only, that is. And I must say, I am the master. Maybe that's why we don't hire people as often as we used to, hm? Am I too tough? Do you think so – ah – Mi-sa? Ha! Amusing name. Did your parents name you after a particularly protein-rich breakfast?" The girl flopped down into a reclining couch. She proffered a lazy hand. "I'm Satsuki, by the way. But you may call me Commander. Why, Misa, you look rather pale. Is there anything bothering you?"

Her legs folded under her, and she propped her head up on the back of a hand, head tilted curiously.

"I believe I'm at the wrong place," Misa said coldly. "Excuse me."

The prickling presence of Satsuki's eyes followed her to the door.

Am I really going to do this? Misa asked herself. She looked at her feet tracking the path towards the door. She could see those taunting green eyes flashing across her thoughts. As she drew closer to the exit, they seemed to solidify, a note of satisfied triumph embellishing the memory. She hated to let him win, hated to betray the memory of her family. But she was not here for honour, fame, money – those vapid trivialities of life. This was not the way.

"Wait."

Satsuki's voice, low and controlled stopped her.

Slowly, Misa turned and met a pair of serious eyes.

"Please sit, Misa. You must be tired."

A pause. Misa sat.

Satsuki materialised a two glasses and a small jug tinkling with ice cubes. A simple slice of lemon adorned the lip, flavouring the water with a hint of acridity. She poured herself and Misa a glass, ice tumbling in with small cheerful splashes.

As she was doing so, she continued without pause. "Every so often we get someone like you. It's not a common thing. The places the raiders target are specifically chosen so the people living their have as few connections as possible. When these places are exterminated, entire families are wiped out. There is no one to grieve for them from neighbouring habitations, simply because these places are so well contained. But humans are social creatures. We inevitably build connections with others, and sometimes these remain strong despite the distance separating one man from the next." Satsuki raised her eyes. "Who are you Misa? Who did the raiders kill?"

"My mother," Misa said slowly. "My younger sister. Mochi. Sen. Naoya. Ikuto." She trailed off into silence.

Satsuki looked surprised. "Were you away from home? Poor child, to come back to something so horrific." Her small hands clenched around her glass.

Misa smiled faintly. "I was there when they came. I was there when they killed them." She drew a long shuddering breath. "I saw the Devil himself."

A small frown graced Satsuki's lips. "How strange," she said, hands rubbing absently at the rim of her glass. "Strange indeed. Why would they spare you? Out of the dozens of cases of absolute homicide, only you?"

"I was not worth killing!" Misa leaped to her feet. The heat of tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. "I lost everything that day. Yet, _he_ wouldn't grant me that simple freedom! I want my revenge, Satsuki. Give the glory, the honour to someone else. I just want to end this – this _feeling_ I have, confronting something I can't control. I hate it. I hate him."

 _Breathe._ Misa stopped, inhaled back the tears. "Satsuki, I'm a country girl. I haven't picked up a sword in my life. But I want to learn. If not to kill him then... to understand. Why would someone commit such a crime? There is no logical reason." Misa lifted her hand before her face, brown eyes marking the ring of callouses around the base of her hand. Strong, sturdy callouses that supported the handle of a hoe or a mill. The callouses of a swordsman would run down further, as the hilt of the sword pressed deeper into the edge of the palm. The swordsmen of the raiders, she thought, would have hands that reeked of blood.

"Misa." Satsuki's eyes were warm, somewhat playful. "Catch."

Seemingly from nowhere, she'd produced a sword. It was a long silver blade with an unadorned ringed hilt guard.

Caught by surprise, Misa fumbled, nervously avoiding the sharp edge.

"Now?" she asked in surprise.

Satsuki shrugged, and suddenly a slim iron rapier materialised in her hand. She held it backhanded, flourishing it in a ready stance behind her back. "Every second we spend talking is a second lost," she said seriously.

"But-" Misa started, then paled as Satsuki sprang forward.

Satsuki was good. She deftly dodged each of Misa's clumsy strokes with the nimbleness of a cricket, weaving between obstacles with practiced fluidity.

"Wait, Satsuki," Misa tried again, but halted with a grunt as she parried a strike. Satsuki quickly whirled, and brought the backhanded blade in an underhand sweep. Misa jumped back, was too mindful of the china vase behind her, and swallowed as she saw a wisp of brown hair float off of the bright edge of Satsuki's blade.

 _She's mad, she's definitely mad!_

Satsuki sprung in and out of her blind spot, grinning as she maneuvered the blade like a particularly nasty snake. It darted in to meet Misa's own like flashes of quicksilver.

It was like the sword was an extension of her. The swordsman and their blade, an almost tangible connection was visible, holding each intention to the other like an invisible tether. No, it was not accurate to say it was an extension. It was two individual beings, synchronised perfectly in a deadly dance.

"STOP!" Misa pushed out blindly, the unresponsive blade in her hand meeting steel. The metal gave. Surprised, Misa fell forward, driven by the fall was stopped by a arm, sturdier than its slimness would suggest.

"Whoa! I'm so sorry, I got carried away, please forgive me!" Satsuki pleaded, an anxious expression on her face. Her cheeks were flushed. She hurriedly plucked the silver instrument from Misa's hand and vanished both it and her own sword as assuredly as they had appeared.

Misa collapsed to her knees, panting. She met Satsuki's guilty stare. "Those were _military grade_ weapons," she emphasized.

Satsuki gave a nervous laugh. "I guess. But," she brightened. "At least we know that you can't wield one to save your own life, let alone kill somebody. What did you think you were holding? A stick?"

Misa coughed, and flushed.

"But to be honest Misa," Satsuki continued. "I'm just a little bit happy that I don't have to teach you. Vengeance breeds vengeance. And you're still so young," she said kindly.

"Then, what should I do?"

Satsuki gave a small, secretive smile. "Follow me," she declared.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N My computer room is ant-infested, they're literally crawling up my leg... -.- Anyway: this chapter was contrived through about three hours of the story developing a mind of its own (I also blame Aoi's voice) and going 'hey, let's go on an adventure!' and dragging this reluctant writer (because the Plan. THE PLAN) along but luckily it was friendly this time and the plan still exists (phew).

Did I mention this was going to be updated frequently? *v*

 **whiteangel83** ahh thank you :)) I am definitely considering your suggestion. Initially I really wasn't sure where I wanted to take this story and just left it as M to be safe, but at the rate this is going, it's looking to be doubtful. Incredibly happy that you're enjoying my writing 33

 **fluffilydeep** thank you :)) actually quite fortunate I'm writing this now as opposed to a couple of years ago - the protags wouldn't have met until pg 100 XD I'm honoured you think so highly of my writing - many thanks for the encouraging words!

 **guest** thank you for the love~

./\\_/\\.  
( o.o )

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Firenight

Chapter 3

 _The perfect image._

Aoi pressed a lock of golden hair to glossed lips and smiled gently. He must admit, he'd absolutely outdone himself. The skirt was white, composed of crisp layered fabrics adorned with ornate frills. The hems were embroidered with a montage of hummingbirds with their beaks dipped in red threaded nectar. Exquisite, dainty, feminine.

It was perfect for where he was today. He stood out like a flower in a cesspit – the brilliant white and carefully applied perfume gave him an aura of untouchability in the jostling crowd of dirt and sweat-slicked bodies. Scowling at the mud coalescing in the uneven grooves of the ground, he lifted up the edge of his skirt and stepped hauntily around. He loved beauty, but above all, he valued practicality. His boots were of sturdy leather with thick soles. They were much like the ones the rest of the fishermen and the thugs and the ware-mongers used, but of an infinitely higher class.

It was a wonderful day, Aoi thought. He sighed through a smile. They so rarely docked in populated places – where there were actually _people_ to appreciate him. Prancing aboard the deck of the ship to the ungrateful eyes of his companions got boring, fast. Fresh eyes, the look of adoration and ill concealed envy was what he thrived in. Where he was now, these side-long looks were abundant.

The docks had to be his favourite haunt, after all. Though many people were there for scrupulous practices, the whore-houses and body-sellers resided almost exclusively near the docks. Attracting otherwise occupied gazes was a refreshing experience, and gave Aoi the feeling of almost drunken glee.

He felt a cackle coming on and hastily quashed it. _Gently, gently... I'm a young girl, not a witch._

A chance glance to the side netted him a wide-eyed stare from... a beautiful man. Aoi's eyes widened a small fraction in appreciation and candid acknowledgement of the glaring woman beside him, before quickly turning away to hide another snigger.

He thought mournfully back to the ship. _Aw, maybe I can convince him to dock again, soon. But Capt'n was pretty grouchy yesterday. Damn it._

Though he really shouldn't have been surprised. It was _that time of the year_ again. They had successfully unloaded their last Navigator just a few hours previously. A strapping young lad, who'd luckily gone home to his parents and the job hunting with all four limbs intact. And his organs. Can't forget the organs. Of course he couldn't forget. Aoi rubbed his nose. The last Navigator had seen more than he should of. Tried to hide it, of course, but Capt'n had always been a perceptive one, and caught him out on it by the nervous twitch of a moustache. He'd lost his tongue, to stop him from babbling. He'd _almost_ lost his hands, to stop him from writing it all out anyway, and in fact the axe was already a fifth of the way through his wrist before somebody recalled that he hadn't been able to read the damn contract. Their contracts were simple affairs, because negotiation was difficult when you were stranded on a hostile ship in the middle of the ocean. If he couldn't read it fat chance he could actually _write_ anything.

Aoi turned a corner, away from the main thoroughfare and into a quiet alley. Sighing, he ran a hand through curled blonde locks, patted down his skirt and fitted the wig more securely on his head. The street was paved, he noted in approval, and allowed the hem of the skirt to fall from his hands. Comfortable now, he hummed as he strode down the alley. _Willow's Rest, number 20._

The brass digits inscribed on the face of each door were faded, some gone completely. One half of the street numbered 32, 3, 29, 7 ...

Willow's Rest, luckily, was a reputable inn. As there happened to be a shortage of reputable inns in those parts, it was also particularly popular.

Light spilled from rounded windows, and the voices of conversation drifted from underneath the doorjamb and from the air vents ringing the slated roof. The inn was constructed of quaint rosewood. Ivy climbed the walls from strategically positioned clay pots. Their tendrils crept through the windows, reaching for the firelight.

Aoi whisked open the door and strode boldly in. Conversation stopped. Dice clattered to stillness. All eyes drew to him.

Aoi basked. It wasn't a rare occurrence, but it still filled him with a happy golden glow to feel not one subtracted gaze from the roomful of people staring. They reveled in his beauty, as much as he did. It was an appreciation of art, an open appreciation of who he was. He loved it. He _lived_ on it.

His aunt was a fool.

"Ah, Aoi!"

A young bar-maid with a full figure and voluminous red hair bustled from behind a set of curtains.

"Erika! You haven't changed at all, the bar's still as busy as ever." Bitterness briefly forgotten, Aoi hopped onto a stool and grabbed the drink Erika slid to him.

Erika laughed. "I would say the same, but I think you've grown even prettier, you cutey. The salt air must have been doing wonders."

Aoi took a deep breath and tipped the glass down. _Mm, pepper fruit._ It filled him with a pleasant heat that stole into his bones and made his entire body feel like a furnace. When the temperature died down, he felt himself visibly relax and smiled warmly at Erika. Conversation had also started up in the meantime, and Aoi raised his voice to speak over the din.

"Ha! I wouldn't say so. Hinata's been grumbling about 'salted fish for lunch, salted fish for dinner, salted fish for breakfast' all week. Last I saw him he looked pretty miserable. I think that's partly why Capt'n stopped so early in the season, just to restock on stuff that isn't salt-preserved. Breathing in the salt air and eating salt, it's like you've been preserved yourself. Sucked dry." Aoi flipped his hair smugly. "Well, only _some_ people."

Erika laughed and reached over to pinch Aoi's cheek. "Firm and perfectly moisturized. No indication of salt-sickness at all." Aoi pouted.

"So, how have you been?" Aoi asked, twirling the glass around idly with his fingers.

"How have I been?" Erika repeated thoughtfully. "Hm, I do believe it's getting more civilized around here. We haven't had to hire bouncers in months. I don't know how much of it is because of the rowdy ones being drafted to the army though, but I'm happy for the inn." She smiled fondly at the glittering counter. "We've built a good place," she said with quiet pride.

Aoi frowned. "Drafted? Aren't we at peace now? We get the news about half a year behind everyone else, in the middle of the ocean and all."

Erika shrugged helplessly. "It's all been very confusing," she mused. "I think it's part of the negotiations – we're giving away some of our military power as our part of the penalty. But who knows how the war started in the first place. Everyone was shocked when it ended –in our defeat no less. No casualties were reported, the country seemed intact. It just... ended. Bah, politics. It's too long winded and knotted up for ordinary folks. But Aoi, tell me something. You're not here just to talk aren't you?"

Aoi sighed. "Aye, it's dangerous for us to dock too long," he said, and regretfully slid the empty glass back over the counter. He stood, letting the skirts tumble prettily back into natural pleats. "I'm already overdue. So, Erika, where is out little Navigator?"

Eriki lifted up a finger as a gesture for patience. She slipped away to whisper into another girl's ear, who nodded and took up station behind the bar. Erika bent her head in Aoi's direction.

Aoi weaved through the crowd and followed Erika's lead.

She moved to the back of the inn, a small alcove that was hung with smoked meats and the carcasses of hunting birds. Aoi wrinkled his nose as they ducked under the bright pink snout of a whole suckling pig, rejoining a patient Erika beside a low door.

"He's a little nervous," she whispered to Aoi. "Try not to frighten him, okay?"

Aoi nodded.

Erika knocked softly on the door. "Misato-kun, I'm coming in."

Aoi's first impression of Misato Kuretaka fretted over the utter lack of sexual interest present in his fierce gaze. _Impossible!_ Aoi's jaw dropped. _A boy in puberty... he's staring right at me. And he's not blushing!_ Enraged, Aoi was about to stalk right up to this anomaly of nature and poke him several times fiercely in the chest to demand what plane he could possibly have come from before noticing a singularly important thing.

The boy – in defiance to his slim build – had hefted a chair up to his shoulder. The gleam in his eye suggested he was prepared to use it as a sledgehammer if provoked. Aoi did a double-take and forced a smile on his face. He hoped it didn't look as contrived as it felt.

He extended a hand. _Civility, remember, be civilised._ "My name is Aoi, and you're our new Navigator?"

Misato slowly put down his chair. He eyed Aoi's hand as if it was going to bite him. Aoi was just about tired of keeping up the pretense of the smile when Misaki said bluntly, "You're a guy."

Aoi did a double-take, the second one in the day and within a minute no less, he must be getting infirm. _What! The only one who'd realised so quickly before was Capt'n, and his perception is legendary._ "What does it matter?" he huffed.

Surprisingly, a hot flush rose in Misato's cheeks. _Huh, maybe he's not as unaffected as I thought._ "I'm sorry, it just surprised me. Erika?" Misato looked at the red-haired barmaid wide eyed.

"Yes?" Erika returned it with a kind gaze.

"He's my contact?"

"Mhm. He's a crew member, the Master of maps. You're to be his Navigator."

"Alright."

Misato took a deep breath and visibly steeled himself. He stuck out his hand. "I'll sign the contract."

Aoi cocked his head. Misato really was a shy one, his face was sheet white. Though it was understandable he supposed. He remembered when he first signed on board – the prospect of never touching land in weeks frightened him. Leaving home filled him with a stubborn apprehension. He was free – but with freedom came a distinct sensation of displacement. He'd felt lost. The world was too broad and had borders that stretched beyond any visible horizon. Now it was all open to him, ripe for exploration. Ripe for finding himself.

With that in mind, he offered a genuine smile. "We'll help you. Everyone's friendly on the ship. Except maybe the Capt'n. He's a bastard. But you'll be working under me anyway. Still, tell me a few things..."

He trusted Erika, but it never hurt to do his own tests. Recalling a particularly interesting collision of weather patterns and political skirmishes near the southern Tasman he'd read in the ship logs, he rattled off data, statistics, coordinates. Misato listened with intent eyes, he felt as if he could see the information being shifted, reorganised and filtered with the precision of a peanut sheller.

When he'd finished, Misato followed with his answer without breaking a pause. Aoi listened to the rapid fire of his confident voice with satisfaction.

When Misato'd finished, he turned to Erika. "Perfect," he said with genuine admiration.

Erika gave an enigmatic smile. "When have I ever failed you, cute Aoi?"

 _Ha,_ Aoi scoffed inwardly, remembering a dismembered tongue. Outwardly, he gave Erika a mysterious look and said nothing more.

"Um. So. The ship."

"What? Oh, you'll need to sign the contract first."

He produced a paper and a quill from the numerous folds of his skirt. When Misato was done, Aoi watched impatiently as Erika showered the boy with gifts and bottles of pepper juice. The crew was going to be senseless for days.

Misato's ineffectual protests in the background, Aoi glanced at the sky and winced. _The time, the time._ Capt'n was going to kill him.

* * *

The girl who was really a boy had been walking faster and faster ever since they'd left the inn. Misa picked up her pace, wincing at the weight of bottles and hampers strapped to her back by the over-enthusiastic Erika. _Has it only been a month?_ Just three weeks earlier, Satsuki had thrown an unsteady pile of books into her room, and insisted she would not unlock the door until Misa had finished reading and memorizing the contents.

"All of it?" she'd asked.

"Yes!" Satsuki had shouted. "Even the damn punctuation."

Something about becoming a 'Navigator'. She'd been weary, and needed something to channel the frustration of inaction. So she'd thrown herself into the books, devoured the pages, ingrained the words until she could name the exact page and volume they'd come from. When Satsuki checked on her a week later, she'd declared her ready and before Misa could dissolve back into her depressive funk, whisked her away to an isolated old hut on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea.

An old man lived there, so withered that he'd needed Misa to carry him bodily up the two shallow steps to his own home. _Take care of him for two weeks,_ was Satsuki's cheerful instructions. It turned out the old man used to be a famous seiko diver back in the day. He'd insist on only cooking food Misa had obtained herself, from diving off the treacherous rocks. It was frightening, and both mentally and physically exhausting. The oceans were choppy with strong currents that obeyed the random whims of the wind. Rips occurred in misleading calm patches that stole death still over the wildness of safer waters. She'd learn to read the tides, experienced the brunt of the weather and how they entwined in a complex ecosystem. After several days of hunger and failure, she finally understood. The sea cucumbers clinging to the sand beneath the labyrinth of currents were the sweet reward of this knowledge.

She'd never harvested enough for the both of them in the end, but gave most of her portion to the old man out of both pity and nostalgia to the shared moments by the table with her grandpa. The revival of those memories soured her heart.

She emerged gaunt, skin and bones. Tossed immediately into Erika's fold, she'd ate herself sick and drunk herself stupid.

"Here we are."

And here she was.

The hull of the ship loomed, black and imposing. No sign of red, but paint could be easily reapplied. She imagined the ship was layered in blacks and reds like an onion, alternating deception and truth.

Aoi was already up the gangplank. Swallowing a lump, Misa followed, hefting the bundle on her back higher.

"Where _were_ you Aoi?"

"God, we were worried sick. Capt'n was talking about casting off without you, and you know how hard it is to tell if he's jokin'."

Aoi huffed. He waved his perfume laden wrist around ineffectually. The crew was obviously already immune.

"Who's the kid?"

"The new nav," Aoi said proudly.

Misa felt herself being prodded forward, into the ring of eyes.

"Oh? A cute one. Might outmatch you Aoi."

"How good is he though? Last one almost ran us into a reef."

"He's good, good enough," Aoi replied breezily. He cast a longing gaze back to the shore.

Misa took a breath. They talked about her as if she wasn't there. She needed to gain their trust. "My name is Misato," she said firmly. "I'm-"

"The new navigator, and it's going to be nightfall before you lot satisfy your curiosity and decide to cast off," a relaxed voice interjected. It was smooth and languid. It stirred a familiar memory, a flash of green eyes and blond hair cast red by fire. The red of blood. Misa felt her breathing speed up, and she clenched her fists. _Not now._ She inhaled deeply, subtly, tasting the salt of the air mixed with the frightening phantom scent of ash and smoke.

"I'm the captain, by the way. Of this vessel. If it weren't clear enough." The faint sarcasm in his tone was offset by the richness of the black coat he'd donned. Beneath it he wore an entire ensemble of black, with brief flashes of silver in the ornate buckles running down the length of his shirt. It was a garb more suited for nobility, but lacking the gaudy baubles and trinkets that was in fashion. Rather, it was the garb of one so assured in wealth that they did not need to display it through extravagance.

 _A murderer masquerading as a pirate. A pirate masquerading as a noble. There's no limit to his facade._

A moment of bated breath. She couldn't - wouldn't - show any signs of weakness, not when she was this close.

"Captain," she acknowledged steadily, and raised hazel eyes to meet amused green.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Weekly updates from now on! Look forward to chapters every Thurs/Fri. Been super busy this week, so unfortunately I haven't had time to do much of anything except schoolwork, homework, test prep... Thank you for all the reviews, favs and follows so far - it's incredibly heartening to have an indication that people are reading and enjoying the story. It motivates me to write! :D

 **SaKkim98** Thank you!

 **Epicest of the Epic** AHahaha I find it quite amusing that the guidelines of this site are so widely abused :p Though some fandoms seemed to have gotten 'safer' since the purge several years ago. Not this one, apparently. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

 **Guest** well, here you go.

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Firenight

Chapter 4

He seemed to detect some challenge in her eyes, because his gaze didn't waver. Misa, out of obstinacy or plain foolishness, refused to shift her own gaze. Before their moment of stillness could transfer into discomfort for the rest of the crew, the Captain let out a quiet snort.

"Carry on," he said and turned about his heel, walking briskly away.

Someone let out a fluted whistle.

A diminutive boy with pale skin and dark hair leaned forward. "Where'd you learn that one?"

"Just... out there." The whistler, a tall youth with shaggy black hair framing a sharp jawed face answered with a vague gesture of his arm. He coloured. "It's okay that I do it on the ship, you know," he mumbled.

The knowing laughs of the other crew caused him to retreat further. Soon he was tugging his hood down over his face until the only features jutting out from its shadow was the peak of his high nose and the thick frosted rim of his glasses.

The smaller boy beside him patted him gently on the back and gave a small smile. He looked about the laughing crew, blinking. "What?" he asked, innocence embodied.

"Oh, oh nothing. Little Kanou has been out exploring. That encounter with miss red haired and bossy must have sparked something, eh?"

"Kuuga!"

A blonde haired man with drowsy eyes let them flutter close briefly as he raised his hands in a universal sign of utter ignorance. "I'm sure he'll have lots to tell you, Yukimura." He opened one ruby eye for emphasis.

"KUUGA!" chorused both Yukimura and Kanou.

Yukimura never did seem to recover his composure after that, occasionally darting looks at Kanou that followed upon notice with a searing blush and disproportionate apologies. Kanou seemed simply bewildered.

Aoi leaned over and whispered in Misa's ear. "Not your most typical introduction, but anything less would be misleading."

Misa nodded. She watched Kuuga neck Yukimura with a faint smile on her lips. There was a chemistry to the crew... it surprised her. She knew what she had been expecting. A dictatorship almost. The absent captain at its head, mannequin-like followers with no spirit, no humanity to them. She watched another boy - red haired - prance up to them and whisper something that made all four explode into spasms of laughter. The red haired one appeared to be chortling just for the hell of it.

"Oi! Haul your lazy asses over here, we're casting off! The portmaster's going to fine us if we dawdle any longer, and you all know who's payin'." A tanned man was waving at them from the far end of the deck.

"Portmaster, what portmaster?" Kuuga grumbled. He stalked over to the edge of the ship and peered over the side. A squat man with a belly as smooth and pertly round as an orange was waving vigorously at them with a small slip of paper clutched in a tight palm.

Kuuga frowned. "Fucking portmaster," he concluded, and turned around. "Man the sails crew, haul in the rigging. We've got to pull her away from here before our friend below decides to stalk us over the entire bloody ocean."

"Aye, boatswain." Yukimura piped up, the rigors of habit briefly overriding his animosity.

"Don't _call_ me that!" Kuuga shouted. "What am I, Shakespearian?"

His voice was drowned out by the sound of the ship coming to life. People were swarming over the deck, amounts seemingly multiplied three fold by the pace and efficiency at which they moved. The deck groaned, and slid underfoot.

Aoi was tugging at her hand.

"They're in charge of the cast off, we need to plan the course. Come on."

Misa nodded, and tightened her grip. They weaved their way through the bustle of people and equipment. A raised area had been constructed on the far end. Several doors inlaid with iron designs of vines and flowers served as portals. Aoi led her over to the far right, picking up his skirts in his bid for speed. He rattled the knob several times before it gave with a click and a tremor.

Inside was a room, the already small area cramped by the furniture and ornaments stuffed into every recess. On the far wall was a quaint alcove set with a round window. A stream of light passed through the clear glass, filling the room with natural light and illuminating the dust particles like fireflies. The walls adjacent were covered floor to ceiling with maps. Some Misa recognised. Still others she could not place, despite devouring Satsuki's books, which were as close to dogma as you could get in the unscientific business of charting. Drawn in dashed lines were currents – red for seasonal, blue for stationary. Notes and jottings were tacked on beside important routes. They meandered across the ocean, illustrating paths that seemingly went in spirals around empty patches of water.

Aoi made his way to the desk, an imposing oak structure that was spilling over with odds and ends. "You're welcome to all of this," he said, brushing the skirts under him as he sat. "It's a bit of a mess – but it's an organised mess. You'll learn."

Misa picked up a volume. A ship log. Dates, courses taken, readings from instruments filled the pages in neat spidery writing. She read through a few entries before closing it carefully and sliding it back on the shelf.

Aoi was tapping his chin with the end of a glass pen. He glanced at Misa. "The ship's stabilized. Once we pull out of the port, it'll be our job to govern where the ship goes, what currents it'll follow, which winds the sails will catch..." he grinned, eyes alight. "Well, first thing for new navs is notetaking. Capt'n's going to come any moment to tell us the course. I want you to record him verbatim."

Misa nodded There was pen and parchment on a low table beside her leg. It was blank, and seemed set there for the purpose. She checked the pen and tested the flow of ink. Satisfied, she set it down.

As if on cue, the door opened and the Captain strode in. Strands of his blond hair caught the light. His pupils had shrunk from the brightness, highlighting the circle of pale jade of his iris.

Their eyes met for in a passing glance before Misa quickly ducked her head and the Captain ignored her in favour of his Master of Maps. "Aoi." He loitered over to the head table and leaned one hip against it. "Where do you think we should go today?"

Aoi shrugged. "I'd suggest the Serpent Isles. Apparently a drunk fisherman saw a mermaid around the rocks half a year ago. Or we could beach the ship in Cait Winthe, and take long boats up the Sinderling to the Northern Kingdoms. They're having a 'sneuw' festival, something worth seeing, I think, considering how warm the season is."

The Captain snorted. "We sailed pass the Isles two weeks ago. What a tiny, miserable place. Anyone forced to live there would have gone nuts before taking proper stock of their senses. Mermaid? More like a sea otter. 'Sneuw' is 'snow', I am not in the mood to associate with highly educated people who can't get their own language, or weather, right." He paused, sunk in a moody silence.

Aoi shifted in his seat, concern flashing over his eyes before they became unreadable black pools again.

Misa watched, pen poised. She'd recorded the tirade by the letter, even as her mind did not register belief in what her ear was hearing.

"The Harvest Festival?" Aoi suggested. He crossed his legs, the skirt falling over them in a flattering pattern. Misa remembered the famed painted women of the festival with their masks of makeup and loose multi-layered skirts and thought she could detect Aoi's suppressed enthusiasm.

"Which one?" the Captain asked.

"Well, there _is_ only one. We've been to all the rest. The Sowing festival was last Summer-"

The captain interrupted with an exaggerated 'hm' before burying the coffin on the idea. "No, somewhere else. It's not been so long-"

Quietly Aoi muttered ' _five years_ '. Misa caught the faint words and hesitated before committing it to paper.

"-there are places we haven't been." He strode over to the map in one long stride and pressed the crescent of a fingernail to a spot on the map. "Here for instance, looks like fun."

Aoi shot Misa a meaningful look and mouthed her the latitude and longitude. Misa scribbled it quickly down before she lost the thread of the conversation.

"A small, isolated, unexplored rock will – I am sure – offer ceaseless amount of entertainment to the most jaded individual." He laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. They remained cold unperturbed pools of deep green. "It's settled then."

Misa finished the sentence and stared. Really? Were they really going to sail to an uninhabited rock in the middle of the ocean? She looked up at the Captain, tall and assured as he discussed the logistics of the journey with a calm confidence.

Supplies, dates, plans. He took it seriously, charting a course to the small rock with the same diligence and sharpness one would expect from a military commander. Aoi dutifully humoured the Captain, dredging up his knowledge at such a far gone location to a good approximation of the dangers they may face. Since the place was so badly documented, Aoi could only assume that was either completely safe (where if would not be worth documenting) or un-passably treacherous (where the poor souls had died for their noble business of documenting).

Better safe than sorry. Misa thought Aoi probably lived by that maxim, as he pulled out all the stops, planning for the worst case scenario. The Captain followed, offering snide remarks when the conversation strayed into the ridiculous, gently steering it back into the realm of the reasonable.

By the time they were done, Misa's hands were shaking. She finished the last 's' with a wobbly stroke that thankfully got lost in the curved body of the letter. Blowing out a breath, she leaned back in the chair. _I hope this doesn't happen too often_ , she thought, wincing at the twinge in her wrist.

When she opened her eyes, she found the Captain staring at her. His green eyes narrowed, cat like.

"Do you have an opinion, dear navigator?" he asked, tilting his head to one side.

Misa blinked. _What? Opinion?_ She looked at Aoi, who was looking as puzzled as she felt. _Helpful..._

Wary, she opted for, "I stand by yours... sir."

The Captain burst out laughing. "Cautious one, isn't he, Aoi? I forget how entertaining new blood is. Well, seems like you and I agree on a great many things, navigator." He grinned, the glint of teeth casting it in a veiled threat. "Though I wonder... how much _do_ we agree on?"

"I think you've already answered that yourself, sir."

The Captain sighed. "How vague. Roundabout. As much as enjoy being a philosopher and spend evening debating over nothing, I am a merchant. A man of practicality."

Misa felt a hot rise of anger. _Merchant?_

"I'm asking you for your opinion on our destination," he continued. "Is it what you're expecting? Does it conform to your expert opinion?"

"I don't think my _expert_ opinion matters very much," Misa replied stiffly. "I deal with waves, ocean currents... _practical things._ Sailing to an abandoned rock in the middle of the ocean? Oh, I don't know, ask an airheaded minstrel, I'm sure they'd have plenty of opinions, giving their expertise in fantasies and stupidity. Maybe if you paid them enough they'll even write a song about it. Something like: _Two weeks the pirate sailed, he ate his entire ship of provisions to go to an empty island. Jolly ho, jolly ho._ "

Even as Misa ranted, she knew she'd gone too far.

Something in the smirk gracing the Captains' handsome face sent a chill up her spine.

"Pirate?" he said softly, and smiled. The faint, unsettling light that had been in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a frightening sobriety.

Misa struggled to relax her features.

She felt Aoi's eyes on her, scrutinising.

"Aoi," the Captain turned to face his Master of Maps and gave Misa a sharp look. "I'd like to speak to you. Misato, was it? You should make yourself comfortable. The quarters are down the hatch - take whatever bed suits your fancy, provided no one else has claimed it."

Misa, suddenly cold, mumbled a quick 'yes, sir' before ducking out of the room. She felt the Captain's eyes on her the entire way, the cool green gaze prickling at the nape of her neck. She shut the door behind her, and leaned on it, head against the panel. _Breathe, Misa, breathe._ Two lungfuls of air. As she exhaled she felt her heartbeat subside, and the knot of fear recede to a slight butterfly in her stomach. Suddenly desperate to know what the two were talking about, she pressed her ear to the crack of the door and strained to listen. However, she could only hear the waves.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N So I was obsessing over another blond guy and I think he snuck into Takumi's characterisation. No regrets!

 **whiteangel83** lmao got so confused when you changed your username, but welcome back! Yes, I considered your review and decided I may as well include his name in this chapter. Left up to my own devices, he'd probably remained unnamed until the climax. It's much too easy to omit these things when everyone's calling him 'Captain'. XD

 **Guest** Ah yes, I love stories with a healthy dose of suspense and angst. It's okay, there's not too much of the latter.

 **FluffilyDeep** Thank you for the encouragement!

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Firenight

Chapter 5

Misa dared to stay crouched by the closed door for only a few moments, wary of the suspicions such unusual activity would raise. As Aoi had informed her, the activity across deck had quietened. She could smell some sort of stew – herbs, carrot, celery with a hint of richness that could have been meat. The ship made a gentle 'thock' sound with each brush of an oar against the sides, driving them forwards. Walking over to the sides, she leaned over and peered along the sleek body of the ship. Only a few oars protruded. Looking up, she saw the sails. They were giant squares of cloth pregnant with wind suspended with taut rope off the masts.

Now that she was staring up, she couldn't take her eyes off. She'd only seen diagrams of ships in Satsuki's books. None of them suggested the weight of the rigging as it criss crossed like a multitude of serpents across the air above her. Nor the sheer size of the masts, broad enough that she could barely stretch her arms around one stout pole. Nor the perspective as she gazed up - feeling small and inconsequential - through the nest of ropes and canvas sail at the miniature flag tossing proudly atop the mainsail.

She didn't know how long she simply stood there, captured by the immensity of the beast she was riding, but a light tap on her shoulder startled her from her reverie.

A short boy with a fuzzy head of dark hair smiled at her. Upon noticing Misa's flinch, he cast a quick gaze to his wayward hand and gave a stilted laugh. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. I just have a quiet voice, so it's hard to get people's attention."

Misa looked at him and gave a slow uncertain blink.

Yukimura opened his mouth, flushed, thought better of it and closed it again. A prolonged pause where both parties sought for words: Misa's mind working to think of something less obtuse than the typical 'nice to meet you', and Yukimura wondering if his botched attempt at gaining the new Navigator's attention had just permanently destroyed all hope of a friendship.

Misa broke the stalemate by sticking out a hand. "Misato. A pleasure."

Yukimura beamed and took it. "I'm Yukimura. They call me the resident errand boy, but I think that's only because half of them are arrogant jerks who can't deal with the basic necessities of life."

"Do you work in the kitchens?" Misa asked.

Yukimura started, then glanced down at the small soup stain on the sleeve of his shrit. "Oh! Just for today though."

Misa gave a faint smile. "Thank the cook for me. It smells delicious."

"It's even better in here." Yukimura pointed at his stomach and returned the smile with a timid one of his own. "It's too early to talk about food though," he sighed. "I saw you looking at the ship earlier. Amazing isn't it. I can't stomach heights, but I can imagine what it must feel to get up there, on the crows nest. I bet you could see the Earth curving away from you."

Misa looked back up and nodded. The crows nest was a narrow wooden torus suspended on the top of the main mast. Rope cascaded off the small structure in large nets that clung to the sides of the ship. If she squinted, she could spot a faint speck moving in broad, carefully placed steps across the nest.

"That'll be Hinata," Yukimura noted. "He's got a thing for high places. I heard he was pretty renown as a tree hugger back in the day, but you don't get trees on ships, so he figured the mast pole was a good substitute. He's a pretty chronic joker... if not for Captain, this entire ship would be infected with his half-brained ideas."

There was a fond smile lingering on Yukimura's lips. "Does he have red hair?" Misa asked, recalling the boy with the split-eared grin.

"Yeah. Figured you've met him already. He's _everywhere._ " Yukimura gave a brief shrug and rolled his eyes.

Misa continued watching the speck move. Despite the distance, she could feel a rhythm in the way the silhouette wove through its movements, swaying in time to counterbalance the gentle rocking of the ship that must have been magnified ten fold at the top. Without warning, the deck surged up as a large wave swelled underneath. Misa startled, catching the railing for support while Yukimura wheeled his arms about, stumbling back a few steps. Just as quickly, her stomach bottomed out as the wave left to terrorise other parts of the ocean. There were a few distant cries as cups were dislodged and card games disrupted. After managing to catch his step, Yukimura shot a glare at the deceptively small waves licking at the sides of the ship.

"Geez," he grumbled. "I hate the rogue ones. I know – nature is random, but nature and this kind of thing is a disaster waiting to happen." He looked up and paled. "Speak of the devil. _Hinata!"_

The speck had tumbled from the empty crows nest, and was clinging by one hand to the slippery ropes near the outer edge of the ship. Even as Misa watched, Hinata's arms scrabbled ineffectually at the waxy rope at the outskirts of the web of the rope.

Yukimura was wide eyed, darting a look at the fragile body dangling off the rope to the miniature peaks of the waves below. "Oh God, we have to get help. If he falls from that distance the force from colliding with the surface of the water would kill him." An urgent second of thought, before Yukimura spluttered out "Captain!" as if that man had all the answers and raced off.

Misa stared at his retreat, mind racing. Even as Yukimura ran, she knew he wouldn't make it in time. Glancing up at the rope and the frightening height to Hinata's flailing limbs, she hesitated for only a second before she raced towards the first set of rope ladders leading up to Hinata's perch.

She kept her eyes on him all the while. As she drew closer, the blurred darkness of the silhouette resolved itself into the face of a young man, red hair glinting off the reflected rays of the sunset. "Hold on!" she called, and her face set at the sight of the foreign ropes in front of her. She'd no idea how to climb these things safely, and she shuddered to think of the dizzying distance even only half-way up, where Hinata dangled. The boy was watching her as she made her approach. His face was pale, freckled... and he was grinning like a child with his favourite candy.

Before Misa could react, Hinata released his death grip from the rope. He twisted nimbly in mid air and swung across, for a heartbeat suspended in mid air with only the concrete waves to break his fall. His body swerved in a wide arc, a trapeze artist, pivoting as he hurtled from the sky towards the boat. He was out of rope. With a wild cry whipped away by the wind he flung himself off. For a heartbeat, he was suspended by the wind and his bare apathy towards impeding death. Misa watched him, mouth open. Her eyes widened as she processed his trajectory. Then it was too late to react as Hinata barreled into her – a knot of limbs and hair and exuberance that flattened her to the deck.

She felt a twinge in the arm twisted behind her back and grimaced. She looked down and got an eyefull of red hair buried in her chest.

Buried in her chest.

Hinata looked up with an expression of amazement. "Wow, you're super soft," he commented. "Like a really springy mattress, only a lot smaller. I think I twisted my ankle." He laughed. A laugh that was abruptly cut short by Misa throwing him bodily off her.

"Watch where you shove your face!" she shouted before her mind could catch up.

Hinata caught himself in midair and landed like a cat. He blinked several times at her, eyes wide. "Hey – relax, relax. Nothing's broken, right?"

Concerned, he squeezed Misa's arms and legs experimentally before Misa could shake him off. Misa quickly snatched her limbs – rather, her entire body away, leaving several safe inches between Hinata and herself. Hinata gave an affected look with round, innocent eyes.

Misa hesitated. She was supposed to be a guy, she knew, but she'd been raised as female with the correct protocols for intimacy for her entire life. Frowning, she licked her lips before slowly lowering the arms shielding her body. "Sorry," she began shakily. "I just... have an old injury there." She waved her arms around for emphasis and to make up for the description she didn't have. "It flares up at times. Really painful."

Misa affected a wince and doubled over on her chest.

If Hinata noticed her delayed reaction to his bodily collision, he showed so sign. Rather, the shamed look he shot her way made Misa feel a twinge of guilt for her deception.

"Hey, do you need help walking? I'll take you to the doctor." Without waiting for her reply, Hinata gently lifted Misa's arm and hoisted it about his shoulders. Misa's protests faded on her lips as she saw the light in Hinata's eyes – a resolute look that spoke of young man wanting to redeem himself. Misa ducked her head and huffed a small smile. She allowed herself to give him a little more of her weight to humour him.

Hinata moved snail paced, stopping every few seconds and giving Misa an encouraging smile. Misa tracked their slow progress and was sorely tempted to forgo the facade.

"Hey!" Yukimura came puffing up to them, and gave Hinata a relieved glance. "I'm glad you're okay."

"He's not. Quick, we've got to get him to Kanou, he looks like he's in excruciating pain. I'm so sorry Yukimura, it's my fault." Hinata shoved his panicked face in Yukimura's face and blathered.

"Hey, hey, calm down." Yukimura made gentle calming motions with his hands. He turned to Misa. "You okay?"

Misa gave a small laugh. "It's just a twinge," she said. "I'm fine."

Both Hinata and Yukimura looked visibly relieved.

"Come on." Hinata bounded ahead, a ball of energy released from the obligation of supporting his injured charge.

Yukimura sighed. "These people never change," he muttered. Misa looked at him, but Yukimura was staring past both her and Hinata.

Hinata followed Yukimura's gaze and froze.

"Yo." The Captain waved a hand in acknowledgement.

"Captain!" Yukimura said, voice high. "Is that really alright?"

The Captain was currently performing a delicate act of balance. A white first aid kit nestled in his hair like an bird's egg. His face maintained an apathetic demeanor. He gestured to the impatient Hinata. "He's fine. The guy's a monkey. I trust there were no casualties?" Even as he ended the sentence, he removed the first aid kit from his head and flipped the latches open.

Yukimura looked at Misa.

"Hinata, help me," the Captain said calmly. "You're responsible, right?"

"Aw, Captain," Hinata pouted but stalked over and leaned over the kit, hands on hips. He poked a gauze strip like it was an small, potentially poisonous animal. "I don't trust these things," he said.

"Not everyone can heal as fast as you, nor as painlessly." The Captain fixed Misa with a steady green gaze. "Well? We don't have all evening."

Misa shook her head. "I'm not bleeding."

Before she could respond, the Captain was walking over to her with angry strides. He grabbed Misa's arm in a tight hand. Misa couldn't hide the sharp inhale as a twinge of pain shot through her arm.

"I'm not having an injured crew member working on my ship," he said softly. Her arm screamed. Misa let out a small gasp. The Captain noticed, and the pressure on her arm relieved. The Captain tugged her gently over to the kit and pulled her down.

His brows furrowed as he worked through the kit, pulling out bandages and brown glass bottles of a clear liquid. Finally, he emerged with a thin stick. He tested the bend of it, but it wouldn't give. Satisfied at the rigidity, he gently raised Misa's arm and secured the splint to it with the bandages. He wrapped each layer of bandage with intent eyes, and asked Misa to move her arms slightly as he made minute adjustments to the position of the splint. Misa watched him. He was bent in close, working on the bandages and her arm as if in a room where the outside world had no right to disturb him. She noticed the paleness of his lashes, the way they brushed over high cheekbones.

It was a strange perspective, Misa thought. She was looking down at him, rather than up, as were in her memories. In them, he seemed a callous stranger. But looking down, she could see the light furrows in his brow where he must have pondered over all too human concerns, and hear every faint exchange of breath as he drew in air. It lead to lungs, a heart, all too physical organs that simply emphasized his mortality.

He tied off the bandage with a few secure tugs at the ends. "Tell me how it feels."

Misa nodded, eyes lowered.

The Captain frowned and leaned closer. "You have a habit of not answering questions, Misato."

"Thank you," Misa said softly, after a pause. "For the arm." She made to get up, but the Captain stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"His chest was hurting," Hinata put in.

"I saw." The Captain hooked a finger under the hem of Misa's shirt and pulled up.

In adrenaline fueled panic, Misa grabbed the hem of her shirt and forced in down, slapping the Captain's hand away. The Captain's expression didn't change, but he slowly removed his hand.

"Touchy," Hinata commented. Yukimura cocked his head in Misa's direction.

"It's fine. Really." Misa bit her lip. Her hands were still shaking. The knuckles were white where she gripped her shirt. "I'll help you pack up."

The Captain watched in considered silence as Misa quickly shoved the kit closed.

"Where do I put this?"

Yukimura stepped forwards. "Just go down the stairs. It's in the alcove to your left. We keep in close by just in case, and also because Hinata."

Misa thanked him. She turned and fled, heart pounding.

The three remaining crew stared after her retreating back. "Ah, he's a funny one," Hinata said. "He'll fit right in, don't you think, Captain? A shame we can only keep him for a year though."

"You know I can't compromise on that." The Captain looked at his hand and opened it thoughtfully. "He lied."

"Hm?"

"He's injured. There were bandages across his chest."

Hinta hummed. "Good thing he's not doing any heavy lifting then. Still, we need a word." He slammed his right fist into his other hand. "It's like he doesn't trust us, y'know."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"What do you mean, Captain? No secrets of your own?"

The Captain said nothing, but left him with a shark's grin. Hinata followed his retreat with a smile that looked out of place on his usually cheerful demeanor. He wore it oddly on his lips. It contained a trace of melancholy in the way it half pulled at a lip and didn't reach his eyes. _Takumi Walker._ He thought of his Captain's name – the name that swallowed the man in blood and the vicious cycle of vengeance – and the smile vanished from his face.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N Setting up. Incredibly sleep deprived at the moment, but I just want to thank you guys for being such responsive readers 3 you all really make my day

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Firenight

Chapter 6

Back when names meant something more than lineage, to be a Baker was to own the bakery down the street. To be a Smith was to labour days by the anvil, hammer and sparking iron in hand. To be a Walker was to be a wanderer.

Families were profession based. Sam Smith, upon realising he didn't inherit the lusty appetite for fashioning metal as his father, would show up one day at the doorstep of the Bakers, adoption papers in hand. "As long as we don't have to feed him," the Bakers would inform the Smiths stonily, but that was all that was said.

The papers were signed, the smith became a baker, and he still returned to celebrate Christmas Eve with his biological family. But his true family, the ones with whom he spoke passionately of leavening bread and the chemistry of yeast organisms, would be the one whose name he proudly carried. Sam Baker.

Like most families, to be Walker was not a requirement to remain a Walker. The Walkers treated life as a stroll, something to be ambled in and out of. Being unremarkable, and having a tendency for the philosophical characterised the Walkers. They were a family of thinkers and dreamers.

But life caught up to the Walkers, and they did not possess the sense to break their pace and run from it.

Even now, as Takumi looked up at the night sky, spying the stars through the transparent grey veil of cloud, he could feeling a quickening in his chest. The pull was not urgent, the _creature_ behind it had been sated recently. It was a feeling that settled in his gut. A fullness that made him nauseous.

It was not part of him. There was a time – he frowned, mind straining. How long ago? Five, ten years? The problem with the creature is that he became so used to it that a time where it wasn't there simply ceased to exist. He could not recall a time before the cycle: fullness, then a hunger that threatened to tear his stomach out, followed by nights that occurred in a blur of blood and static, then waking with the strange fullness again.

He leaned over the side of the ship – _his_ ship. The light from the white face of the moon was swallowed by the waters. Kilometers deep, he knew. Freezing. Cold, Dark. Teeming with imagined creatures. He gave a low chuckle. _Five years ago I wouldn't have imagined them at all. Some things are too horrific, or too beautiful to be pinned down by something as limited as imagination._

Four years ago his ship had existed as a small pile of cured wood. He'd gone to inspect it himself. The boat-wright hadn't known him. He'd tried to haggle. Somehow he'd haggled the price down, instead of up. Indeed, when blades were involved, all logic went out the proverbial window. Takumi didn't bother to suppress a smile. _After all, there are no watchers on open waters._

Five years ago he'd have cared less about a ship. He'd not been able to tell apart a leaky lichen scabbed raft from a rowboat. It hadn't mattered. It mattered now. That was the difference.

Among other things.

"Captain!"

He pivoted on a foot and turned to face the ship. The scalding light from the lanterns nearly blinded him after the un-penetrable darkness of the still night.

"Don't be such a loner, Captain. You'll freeze to death from the lack of company."

Takumi grinned, showing teeth. "Personally, I don't find yours any warmer."

Kurosaki gave a suppressed shrug but turned back to the ring of lanterns. "Since Captain's being a grouch, doesn't mean the rest of us have to. Who's next?"

"Oh! Yes! Me!" Naoya was for all appearances an intimidating man, with eyebrows drawn so steeply in that he appeared to be permanently angry. Appearances were important. Takumi walked a little closer to the ring of light but stopped half-hidden by the warm shadows. Naoya was currently on his heels in his enthusiasm, long arms stretched in demand for Kurosaki's attention. The open eagerness of his face reminded Takumi that beneath the drawn eyebrows and apparent scowl how soft and delicately child like the man was.

"Hey, how drunk is he? No? Excellent, give him the bottle," called Kurosaki.

* * *

Misa watched as Naoya – a blond man, tall, with a stern demeanor that melted into a cheerfulness that sat surprisingly well on his rugged face – spun the bottle to himself and took a hearty swig. A scattering of applause and whistles applauded the effort as the liquor visibly worked down Naoya's throat.

He gave a rushing sigh and beamed before launching into a story.

Misa settled back to listen, gingerly propping her bandaged arm on a knee. It hurt a little. Aoi sat on her left, blue eyes intent. He wasn't wearing his wig. The short spikes of hair – closely cropped to make sure no stray strands escaped from his wig – looked incongruous with the layers of tassels and frills that made up his new costume. Horribly impractical dress for a ship, Misa thought with a small smile. Aoi strutted about the ship like a princess and treated the deck as a throne room. Secretly, she'd noticed the deck scrubbers nodding appreciatively at the thick train of Aoi's skirt brushing away the dirt and debris.

On her right, Hinata was lounging. 'Normal' didn't seem to exist in his vocabulary. He sat with limbs askew and head cocked at a ridiculous angle as he eyed the speaker. His eyes flickered down to meet hers and he offered her a grin. Misa returned it with a rueful one of her own.

"Hey," Hinata stage whispered. "Is your chest okay?"

"Y-yeah, it's fine. Really, my arm hurts more," she replied honestly.

"That's good," he informed her.

He seemed to have developed a strange protective streak. He'd tailed her through dinner, looking at her owlishly as she ate. He'd even followed her into her meeting with Aoi before she'd finally confronted him.

Then it turns out he was supposed to be there, since he was resident look-out and so had the best information about the conditions surrounding the ship. Conditions she was supposed to be informed by him in order for her to correctly perform her duty as Navigator. Aoi had given her a look, and Hinata if possible had adopted an even stronger air of affected innocence.

She just needed to be extra careful. Misa curled her knees into her chest and frowned.

The real puzzle though...

The Captain. She worried her lip and glanced up into the ring of crew.

They'd lit the lanterns to ward away the brunt of the night, but there were still shadows the flames couldn't penetrate along the edges of their circle. If she looked hard enough at the darkness she could catch the silver edge of a buckle on his cloak. A wind started and spun the flames hovering on the wick. The light shifted, and washed briefly over the Captain's face. Misa stilled as she caught green eyes staring at her. The flames settled and the shadows returned to cloak his figure before she decide whether it was simply coincidence.

He was dressed differently to her memories. But the face was the same. The mocking smirk, as if he was privy to some secret the rest of them weren't. Misa shook her head. The crew that had gathered around the specter in her memories had been puppet-like. They'd killed the villagers with the cold efficiency of a butcher on his pigs. This was different.

She thought – at some subconscious level – she must have known. Those that had killed her family weren't human. But these people – _people_ – were distinctly so. A burst of laughter erupted from the circle, startling her out of her thoughts.

Beside her, Hinata had straightened and was clapping enthusiastically.

Naoya had finished his story, and was bowing with a faint blush on his cheeks from the attention.

"Encore!" someone yelled.

"This isn't a musical performance you dolt! You tell the same joke twice and nobody will laugh!"

"Ignore the miser, I will!"

"You'll laugh at anything, it doesn't count. Volunteers? No, don't _all_ put your hand up. Come on, spin the bottle, Naoya."

Aoi was chuckling quietly to her left. "Did you miss the joke?" he asked, and nodded at Misa's inquiring glance. "Come on, best to laugh now. Everyone's going to be too tired to do anything the next few days. First night on a safe cast off should be the happiest – plenty of food, plenty of drink, plenty of fun. Right?" Aoi lifted an eyebrow.

Misa laughed quietly into her hand. "Aren't you too young to drink?"

Aoi shot up in indignant affront. "What? I'm as old as your mother."

"And you're as short as my little sister, is that how it is?" A small pang shot through her heart. Suzuna was gone. Her mother was gone. She suddenly wished she'd retracted her statement.

Aoi drew himself up and sniffed. "HEY!" He waved his hand towards Noaya, who had his hands on the neck of the bottle, ready to spin. "Give me that for a second!"

"No, you're breaking the rules Aoi!"

"The bottle has to _choose you_."

"Yeah, Aoi. Sit down, you're risking the wrath of _the bottle_."

"Are you idiots?" Aoi shouted over the gathering din. "It's just a _beer bottle_!"

He caught a mutter of ' _just a beer bottle he says_ ' and shot the man a glare.

Naoya made placating movements. "Hey, hey, relax guys. It's seriously easy to rig this thing anyway." He had to pause as the volume rose again, a scowl darkening his face in a frightening shadow. "Seriously guys, it is. Look-"

He gave the bottle a gentle tap with his index finger and it turned a tiny arc to point towards Aoi. "See?" he said, a pleased smile on his face.

Kurosaki rolled his eyes skyward. He raised his voice. "Well, Aoi, the bottle had chosen you to tell us a story. Also, drink this – you're underage." He tossed Aoi a corked bottle of ginger beer.

Misa shot Aoi a meaningful look.

"I like Erika better than all of you," Aoi grumbled. But he dutifully uncorked the ginger beer and took a drink.

"This story is about a prince-cess who liked to swim. This prince-cess didn't take well to duties of the state. They loved water, the way it flowed so effortlessly downhill and rested in the lakes of their childhood. It was an entirely different world to them. A serene world. Now it so happens that there was a war going on in the prince-cess's kingdom. It was a bloody war, lots of blood was shed, organs were lost, people had their heads put on stakes to decorate the front porch and so on. But the prince-cess, to its father's horror, found the pools of water much more interesting than the war.

Unfortunately, the war had a habit of catching up to people, and one day while the prince-cess was gazing down into the water, it noticed a thread of red unravel on the surface. It was beautiful. It fascinated. The red thread was so serene, carried by its original momentum, it split into a beautiful fractal. As the prince-cess watched, one thread became many. Soon, many red threads were feeding into the stream. The prince-cess had never seen such a beautiful sight.

It was so beautiful, in fact, that it lifted its head for the first time in weeks and was about to call out to its mother and father to inform them about this new beauty it had discovered. But when it turned behind, it saw the corpses of its father and mother. Their hands were reaching towards it. They had clawed blood stained lines across the back of its shirt, before falling across it, finally bleeding into the still pool. " He stopped, using the hush for emphasis, developing a tension and suspense in the story with the finesse of a true storyteller.

Aoi sat back. "And that's it."

Noaya blinked. "That's the end? Come on, where's the real ending?"

"Nope, that's it." Aoi shrugged. "I'd considered adding a part where the father had been clutching a note that said, 'don't mistake the moon for its reflection', but that feels too contrived."

"Please tell me you made that up."

Aoi gave a noncommittal shrug. "Whatever makes you comfortable. Misato, your turn."

"Huh? Oh, okay." Misa accepted the bottle distractedly.

Yes, out of the all the crew, the Captain puzzled her the most.

She hadn't been sure, but looking carefully, she could tell the shadows were empty. He'd slipped away halfway through Aoi's tale. The fact that she noticed at all meant he'd been clumsy in his desperation.

I hate you.

 _I hate you._

But who are you?


	7. Chapter 7

A/N EXAMS ARE DONE I AM FREE (for... a few weeks) but yes, perfect timing as well as the second major event will start soon next chap. :) Looking forward to sharing it with you all! To avoid bloating this part too much, I'm responding to your lovely comments via PM c: but I do think there is something that should be said here.

I believe this is only a problem with some fandoms, but what I think should be acknowledged is the fact that fanfic is self-indulgence. If half of what happens in fandom occurs in canon... well... it'll be a _very strange place_ up to but not including tentacle fetishes. And because it is self indulgence, enforcing any kind of standard upon the authors or the story doesn't really make sense, because fandom literally encompasses _everything_. Everything. *points to AUs*

* * *

Firenight

Chapter 7

They traded anecdotes with each other well into the night. The Captain returned some time later, a violin in hand. Misa lounged by the lantern, stuck in sleepy haze. At the Captain's arrival, a scatter of applause and cat-calls rose from the crew. The Captain responded with a vicious grin and hefted the body of the violin. He drew the bow roughly across in challenge, and the crew let out a collective groan at the distressed screech that emerged.

"Stop teasing us Capt'n," Kuuga muttered with a pained wince."It kills me when you do that to an instrument."

The Captain gave a small hum. "All awake now, Kuuga?" He set the bow to the strings and drew it carefully down. The crew let out a collective sigh at the sweet, constant note that followed. Misa felt her eyes flutter close.

The Captain played for them until well into the night, coaxing lullaby after lullaby out of his instrument. They were sad tunes, low and melancholy. Yet, some had distinct moments of sweetness – where the night itself appeared to give way to spring and Misa could feel a darkness retreating from his expression. They felt like folk tunes, some remnant of a familiar past, except with none of their characteristic simplicity. Rather, a music that felt like the Captain's voice wove into the tunes, turning simple riffs into wild things that rose and crashed in emotional crescendos like a wave.

Too soon, the Captain set his bow to the strings and drew out a final firm note before untucking his chin. The crew had mostly fallen asleep by then, lured by the calm seas and the Captain's music. Misa's eyes had opened a slit at the end of the music, and that was the only reason that she caught the fond smile that stole briefly over the Captain's lips.

"That was beautiful," she murmured.

The Captain's eyes fell on her in a flash. He gave a rueful quirk of his lip as he approached. "It served its purpose," he said, crouching down beside where Misa lay. Misa watched sharp green eyes survey the sleeping crew. "The first night is always the easiest."

"Aoi said that." Misa acknowledged. She glanced at the Captain.

The Captain laughed quietly. "Another one of your not questions? What were we again – oh that's right – _pirates_. I don't know, I seem to recall _pirates_ were rather wanted people. Not even for their irresistible gallantry. What was it? Wanted for the appropriation of capital goods, and the murder of innocent civilians. That hardly lends itself to an easy life."

Misa scowled. "And you accuse me of not answering questions."

The Captain gave a triumphant grin. "But you never ask, Misato."

The music, the stories and the alcohol must have been getting to her because she reached out a hand and punched him lightly on the arm. It was a gesture she'd used often with her friends, whenever they said something plain dumb. At that moment, the Captain reminded her clearly of an obstinate child who didn't possess the emotional maturity to concede an argument.

"So, what will we be doing? _Running?_ Also, as your Navigator, you're serious about that rock? I had a look at it with Aoi and Hinata over dinner, and we agree that it's a stupid place to sail to – beg your pardon Captain – not only because there's literally nothing there, but the currents are unpredictable at this time of the year."

The Captain leaned back, folding his hands together. "Very professional Misato. You could almost deceive me. But I am deadly serious." He fell silent for a moment, staring at Misa. When he spoke again, he spoke slowly. "I've often thought about rulership. Why do we need hierarchies? Why are there kings, and lords, and serfs? Why must there be a Captain to every vessel?"

Misa tilted her head to one side, and considered the question. "We need a leader, Otherwise people will just do their own individual thing, and it'll never amount to anything lasting in the end."

The Captain nodded. He stared pensively at the lanterns, the flames reflected in red flecks outlined against the green of his eyes. "Perhaps," he said evasively. "Then, as Captain of this vessel, you'll have to trust me to go to this rock and not get you killed."

"Can I?"

"What?"

"Trust you."

"Do you have a choice?"

"Now when I'm asking a real question who's the one not answering?"

The Captain leveled her a stare that she returned with force.

He gave a snort. "You can trust me. For now."

He got up as if to leave, but Misa interrupted with another question. "What do you mean, 'for now'? Why should I trust someone who could back-stab me at any moment?"

The Captain gave a mirthless smile. "Isn't that the question you should be asking yourself? But I won't betray you, or any of them. You are, what can I say, a form of family." He wrung out the word, as if it didn't feel quite right on his tongue.

"What do you mean?" Misa said in a tight voice. She wasn't talking about the family part.

The Captain seemed to know, appeared to have seen it coming. The night was quiet, the crew was sound asleep, and the lantern wick was burning low. The final dredges of flame licked up the glass and winked out. Even in the darkness, Misa could feel the Captain's presence as he leaned down and drew closer. She could hear each inhale, feel each warm brush of air against the shell of her ear. He cupped his hand there, pressing the edge of his palm into the soft hair beside her ear, and drawing his lips close. He told Misa her secret.

"Are you going to kill me, Misato?"

Misa sat still, the words stuck in her throat. "No," she said. _Misato won't, but Misa will._

"Oh?" The Captain withdrew, and the cold air hit her like a shock. He looked at her in amusement. "That's new. Generally my would-be murderers enjoy admitting their crime."

"It's not a lie."

The Captain raised an elegant brow, arms crossed. "Do your worst," he replied with a dismissive wave, as if he didn't just out Misa.

Had she really been so obvious? Misa thought, and stared at the brazen man before her with incredulity. He was looking away, over the ocean, an unfathomable distance in his eyes. She couldn't help a spark of unease.

She'd entertained thoughts, schemes of revenge. A knife in the back, or poison in his wine. But somehow, him admitting to his knowledge of the crime she was goading herself to commit seemed to make it all the more wretched. Misa looked at her hands, and felt an up-well of disgust. Will I be any different? she thought furiously. Her fingers clenched until the knuckles were white. But I am. He will keep on killing, she realised. I would be saving people. I'd be... a hero?

She couldn't imagine it. Misa the girl, Misa the reliable one. She imagined herself _saving_ people, and it was nothing as illustrious as the thought of saving those who weren't even dead yet. Those people where she imagined the Captain was staring towards didn't know her. Maybe they'd thank her, like she would have thanked someone who could have killed him before he'd destroyed her home, petrifying the tears before they had reason to fall. Except she'd be thanking this stranger who she didn't know. A thousand prayers to a nameless god that bore her name.

Misa suffered a glance up. She unpeeled her finger nails from their bite on her was hard. They say revenge is an impetus to any act. She was now certain that was a lie. It was hard because he stood as if he had everything to lose. It was hard because he had an odd smile tugging at the corner of his lips, sardonic and mocking. He directed this smile to no-one, and that meant that it was aimed at himself.

Misa knew how it felt. A disappointment so crushing that you realise that it wasn't the _world_ out to get you – the world is brutally impartial. It was yourself. The fault lay nowhere else, but the fact is so self-depreciating but at the same time so damnably true that the only direction the self-loathing could go was inwards.

She saw herself reflected in him - but twisted with blond hair and bearing a mask of loathing.

And then she realised, she couldn't kill him. Because to kill him, would be like killing herself, the part of herself that had driven her to Satsuki and this ship. And by admitting that he deserved to die, she would have to admit that she deserved the same death.

Misa adverted her eyes, swallowing. It was growing colder. An icy wind blew, sending goose-prickles popping up like a corn harvest along her arm. Something heavy and warm landed on her back. She looked up in surprise, but the Captain was already walking among the sleeping crew. He roused them with a rough shake and quiet admonishment. Even wearing just the thin black undershirt, he seemed unfazed by the biting sea wind.

It was not long before the ship sprung into action again. Sails were adjusted, the night-shift workers manned their posts.

Kuuga was one of them. He picked up a lantern lying near Misa and let out a huge yawn.

"I regret nothing," he informed her stonily.

Misa laughed at him. "Your eyes say otherwise."

"They are naturally droopy," he snapped. Kuuga stomped off, inciting a yell from Kurosaki when he stepped through a floor board.

Misa stood and stretched. She gathered the Captain's coat around her shoulders. It was too late to think of much. There existed a shadow of unease she felt at the fact that _he knew._ She still didn't know what to think, or how to think, or even if she was thinking at all and had just imagined the entire thing. Misa clapped a hand to her temple. She'd thought she'd built up a tolerance to alcohol from Erika, but apparently not.

Groping across deck by a dimly remembered layout from a muzzy mind, she followed a faint shadow that could have been Aoi's dress towards the door that fell open at a touch. Stumbling down the dark stairwell, she felt along the right wall to orient herself. Her fingers caught on the small lumps in the wood that she knew marked the names of the crew. And yes – she felt the sharp edges of the first aid kit tucked in its alcove and smiled.

Following the wall to the right, she entered the crew quarters.

Someone had lit an alcohol lamp. The feeble light didn't reach far, but it was enough. A line of hammocks was strung across the room, taking up the entire width of it. Misa had to duck underneath, pressing her nose to the floorboards (smelling like dust mites and old socks) and crawl to reach her own. Her place had been at the very back of the room, but thanks to Hinata's over eager generosity, was now the second farthest. That, thankfully, meant one less body to crawl under. Misa held her breath and pulled herself under the sagging weight of a hammock housing someone particularly heavy.

She pulled her limp body in fully clothed. The structure tilted like a miniature ship itself before it stabilised. She gripped the edges in the alarm, hardly daring to move in case it tipped over. It was embarrassing enough getting changed, more so than being dumped unceremoniously to the floor in the middle of the night.

The cotton was coarse, and scratched at her skin. She remembered the coat, and spread it underneath her. An immediate improvement. She'd return the coat next morning, Misa decided. She'd rock up to the Captain go 'hey, thanks for the coat, I hope you don't mind that I basically plastered myself over it the entirety of last night.' That'd turn out well. The half finished thought formed and fled, like trying to catch a butterfly with a torn net.

Someone lit another lamp. Misa turned to face the wall and sank into blessed, mindless darkness.

She dreamed of stars. They winked out systematically, one after another, like keeping time. Each vanished dot seemed inconsequential, leaving behind a tapestry of white equally as brilliant as before. But soon there was only twenty, ten, then three. A yawning hole appeared to form behind them, as if the constellations had formed a barrier to a darkness that threatened to swallow her. The final white light sputtered out and she was falling into an endless night. She thought she stopped dreaming then.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N Phew. Trying to cap this one off at about 100 - 150 ish pages. We'll see how that goes, ha! I suspect I'm going to have my work cut out for me fixing pacing issues when this is finished. Updates weekly Thurs/Fri

* * *

Firenight

Chapter 8

It had been three months since they had last seen land. It wasn't bad, Misa reflected, running a finger along the creased pages of a map she was perusing. Admittedly the quality of food was a slippery slope – she could hardly pick out the green-brown flecks in her bowl that could have been vegetables. It was the only thing between her and scurvy, after all. She gave a shudder and rubbed the skin of her arm nervously to stave away a phantom pain.

 _The killer of the seas,_ she thought. _They say it drives people mad._ She thought about the Captain and the cheshire grin he wore when she'd approached him to hand back his coat. Taunting her. He was practically _begging_ for his death, leaving food unattended for mysterious periods of time and constantly going off alone in conveniently dark and isolated corners. Misa was almost tempted to oblige. If not for that smile he wore.

That smile, she knew, meant _business._

Life, to him, was a game. Misa was simply the newest playing piece. Maybe the scurvy had gotten him already. She imagined him dropping dead a few weeks later, raving mad and shook her head with a wry grin. He didn't seem like the kind of person to fall quietly into the obscurity of death in the isolated center of the ocean. He'd go down fighting, or at least doing something obnoxiously memorable. Something like sailing his ship to the land-locked capital and bowing grandly before the king before setting both himself and the palace alight.

Misa summoned the image and was surprised to find she believed it.

She glanced about the ship. It was peaceful now. They'd caught the wind a few hours ago, and the anonymous rowers had retired. Now it was just Shousei at the helm, a quiet guy who held the spokes steady with a grim set to his hands.

Then Shousei wrenched the wheel to the left. The wheel spun, and kept spinning.

Surprised, Misa stumbled back, lost her balance and fell to the floor. The ship groaned as it swerved, the deck tilting in a steep gradient that sent Misa scrabbling for a handhold. The book she was holding slipped from her grip, and she watched as it skidded down the deck and landed with a soft thump at the other end.

"What's going on?" she shouted.

Shousei didn't answer her. His eyes remained intent. The muscles of his arms stood out as he held the wheel steady in that sharp turn.

Misa looked quickly around. Some people were already filing onto deck, caught off guard by the sudden swerve.

Even the Captain arrived soon after, a frown on his lips as he gave his vessel a quick once over. He gave Misa a lingering look before turning to Shousei. The helms-master was backing away, having already dutifully tied the wheel to course. He whispered something to the Captain that made green eyes set into a look. He snapped, "Everyone get below deck. Now."

Misa had retrieved her book. "What's going on?" she demanded.

The Captain turned to her sharply. Misa was taken aback at the whiteness of his face. "Now!" he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

 _I've never seen him look so frightened._

Misa started back to the cabin, about to break into a run when a wail rose from the water behind them.

"Cover your ears!" she heard the Captain shout, but his voice sounded far away and had a strange hollow quality to it, as if it was echoed from the bottom of a well. A well that seemed to grow deeper and blacker by the moment, drowning the sound with it.

Misa felt a spike of primal fear. Instinct tugged at her hands, willed them to move even as she felt lost in an absence of sensation. A dull pulsing started at the base of her temple, the feeling of a pressure on her eardrums that filled them to bursting. She willed her hands to move, and had to double check with her eyes to make sure they were. They did, coming up to her ears way to slowly. Floating, disembodied appendages that felt hardly her own.

Misa was suddenly overtaken by a sensation that she had become just as disembodied as her limbs. She thought she should double-check her body. Just to make sure it was still there.

She looked down, expecting to find her feet and the brown leather shoes they were enclosed in. To her surprise, she met a pair of eyes. They were blue and watery, framed with coarse scales the colour of mollusks.

"Hello." A tingling rush passed through her, setting fire to her veins. The voice was music. It held both the resonance of a church bell and the ephemeral fairy sound of harness bells. It echoed in her empty well of sensation and filled it with light, softness, sound.

Misa found herself smiling. And why not? What a beautiful voice! "Hi," she replied. She heard a dim echoed 'hi' repeated back.

"Come, come here." The voice rose again, eager. Misa marveled at how the sound filled her with flashes of starlight and the universe.

"Sure," she replied absently and sent an off-hand thought to her feet to move.

She supposed they did, because her visual field shifted.

"Goo-d, goo-d. This way. This way."

Something was grabbing at her arms and legs. She slapped them away with strength she didn't know she'd possessed. She supposed she threw a few punches as well. There was a vague remembrance of something soft crunching beneath her fist but it all seemed so far away. So insignificant. Another remnant of the emptiness that had consumed her before the voice came and filled her up.

She stepped onto the railing and observed a marvelous landscape. Rolling blue hills heaved and dipped into rich valleys. Coral landscapes ruled by kingdoms of fish played out below her. But it was the eyes that caught her.

In a sudden moment of clarity, she thought they looked green with a vicious edge. They reminded her of the Captain, but conjured a spike of fear that lodged in her stomach and her throat. It was the same fear that had struck her on their first meeting. She recalled it, and realised that she didn't feel this same mindless need to escape. Was her fear swallowed by a desire for vengeance? Or lulled by the peace and harmony she felt aboard the ship?

The ship?

But the memory fell behind her. She tipped over into the ocean and met the embrace of triumphant green eyes.

"Yes. Yes. Yes," the thing whispered.

Misa winked out of existence.

* * *

"Captain, Captain!"

Aoi jostled elbows, bodies, pulling himself through the crush of people. Not for the first time, he cursed his small size. He cursed the day as well. Of all the days to run into sea nymphs- not to mention the _probability._ They'd sailed past the very same coordinates year in and year out, multiple times. And never, never, never...

"Aoi." The utter calm that lay like a foreboding undercurrent in the Captain's voice frightened him more than he'd admit.

He wrenched the door shut at the clamouring crowd behind him, pushing back a few concerned and curious limbs from the doorjamb. The room was plunged in a blessed quiet. Aoi breathed out a sigh of relief and made his way towards his Captain.

"Captain-" he started.

"It's Takumi in here." His voice was monotonous, dead.

Yukimura had a white cloth in hand and was running it gently over the Captain's – Takumi's – cheek. Aoi felt sorry for the kid. He looked hopelessly embarrassed to be touching him so familiarly, face taking on the colour of tomatoes that stained all the way to the roots of his hair.

A swelling purple bruise bloomed like a malignant rose from the socket of Takumi's eye to the top of his cheek. Yukimura ran the gauze over red skin and Takumi hid a sharp wince. Aoi frowned, running his eyes over the bruises and scratches on display, cataloging the injuries.

He was looking for something. A mark – relief filled his chest – that wasn't there.

Aoi blew out a breath. "They didn't get you. Wonderful, you live to fight another day."

Takumi gave a snort. "They wouldn't have been able to. The witch's already claimed me and inked her filthy blood over my skin. They'd need to be much stronger to come close to pulling her influence off."

Aoi raised an eyebrow. "I've always felt you've been unfair on yourself, calling it a 'her'. It's hardly animal, let alone human. Honestly... Takumi... I'm glad you look like your usual bad-humoured self. Where are the others?"

Takumi gave a brief nod to his right and made a study of avoiding his eyes.

 _Let him stew._ Today he fucked up. And the tenseness of his posture, the flinty eyes showed he knew it. Aoi just hoped they would recover.

He turned to his left – the Captain's right – and entered a small alcove.

The room was used as their impromptu first aid tent. He'd commissioned it himself, back when they'd gotten into a lot more scuffles and everybody had sustained injuries on a regular basis. Stretchers folded into the walls. Supplies and medical equipment tucked neatly into the walls. Some were concealed by clever wooden panels, others were displayed in carefully ordered arrays on overhanging shelves and cabinets.

It was a cramped room. It currently housed one claustrophobic Hinata and an apathetic Shousei.

"Aoi!" Hinata's eyes had widened. Aoi could see the sheen of sweat breaking over the boy's skin and admired his tenacity as he resolutely bound up Shousei's injuries. "I feel horrible. In more ways than one." He made a gagging motion. Aoi had the sick feeling it wasn't just for show.

"Hey, get some air. I'll take care of him."

Aoi met Hinata's glare and quickly backed off.

"My responsibility." Hinata said. "Stay out of this, Aoi. Don't you dare force me outside. I'll break down the fucking door if I have to."

Aoi frowned but took a seat. He glanced at Shousei. The boy was pale, barely lucid and moaning.

"He's stronger than he looks, for someone so skinny," Hinata said eventually.

"Shousei?"

"Misato," Hinata clarified. Catching Aoi's look, he scowled and continued. "They got him."

Aoi opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He carefully closed it again, lest he accidentally swallow the daggers Hinata's eyes were throwing his way.

Then Hinata turned away, a scowl on his lips and Aoi realised that the daggers were for himself. Hinata probably wished he had a mirror right now, Aoi thought, just so he could glare at himself, and heap all that undeserved blame on by the spadeful.

"Whatever you think, Hinata, it's not your fault."

Hinata shot him a heated glare. Whatever Aoi thought before, the daggers were definitely aimed at him now. "You think? What do you know what I was doing? I wasn't at the crows nest, where I was _supposed to be._ The Capt'n put me up there to prevent these things from happening. The sea nymphs aren't exactly inconspicuous you know – their hair glows like a fucking light globe, plus they move in swarms as wide as the Thymas river. I should've been there – I would've been there except I slacked off. Rigging a bucket trap when I should've been watching. And now look at him!"

Hinata flung the gauze strip down in disgust. Shousei mumbled something and turned, a clump of hair sliding back to reveal the pale skin of his neck.

Aoi bit his lip. The skin was marked. If it had been red, it could easily have been passed off as an incidental bruise. It looked like one – had the same blotchy quality. Except this bruise was neon blue. It pulsed along the delicate skin of Shousei's neck, drawing the veins and arteries to the surface of the skin. Spidery webs of red bulged and pulsed along with Shousei's slow heartbeat.

The breath rushed out of him as skin suddenly broke. A pin-prick of red welled as the thin walls of a minor vein ruptured from the pressure, the skin stretched tight enough to split from the force of it. Hinata was on it in a flash, gently wiping the bead of blood off and applying a salve.

"Self sacrificing idiot." Hinata's lips were pale. "He should of left the helm. But he stayed. Tied the wheel down as calmly as if he'd forgotten about the nymphs."

Aoi sank into a stunned silence. _You'll be okay. You'll be okay, Shousei._

"I'll tell Kuuga. It isn't right to keep this from him." Aoi rose, about to leave.

"Why are you talking about me... as if I'm already dead?" Shousei had opened his eyes a slit. They were clouded over, the whites a sick grey.

Aoi hesitated. He looked at the bursting veins at Shousei's neck. The mark was from poison secreted by the finger nails of the nymphs, and could have only been a spot the size of a pea when it'd first made contact. The blue growth had grown and swallowed Shousei's skin like a cancerous tumour in mere minutes. _I'm sorry. But realistically... speaking realistically... Shousei..._ Aoi struggled to formulate the thought.

"I'm getting Kuuga," he managed, and fled the room.

 _Nobody should die. Not like this. Wasted, when our life could serve someone else's._

When he reached the main chamber, Takumi's eyes were closed.

"Is he dying?" His voice was so quiet Aoi wasn't sure if he'd heard him right.

"Yes," he found himself saying. "Are you going to...?"

The question hung in the air between them. A phantom presence. Neither reached to touch it. But it had to be asked, Aoi knew. It had to.

Takumi seemed shut off. Even though his eyes were closed, Aoi could imagine them. The vacant look of them. "No, not yet." It was said softly, as if to convince himself.

Aoi felt a swell of unease. He had a sense – a compulsion – that said his Captain, Takumi, would wait until it was too late. "Do it," he found himself saying. "Just do it. Remember last time? You waited, _you waited_ and-"

A sound of glass splintering.

Yukimura had ducked, and cowered under interlocked hands as Takumi rose with an angry green flame in his eyes. He had knocked down a glass paper weight in an angry sweep of his hands that ripped out of him like a spasm. It lay in shattered scintillating pieces on the ground. _A bitch to clean up._

"Don't presume I need a reminder." His voice was cold. Aoi could hardly remember the last time he'd been dismissed by the Captain in such an non-negotiable fashion.

He looked at the blood streaming down the Captain's knuckles. Aoi's lips peeled back from his teeth in a half snarl, half smile. "Fine. I'm not going to presume anything. If you're going to destroy yourself, and all that you've worked for, go ahead. It's hardly my responsibility." He gestured to the blood dripping down on the floorboards, at Yukimura's cowering form, at the fractured mess on the ground and looked at Takumi. "Just don't be a fool, and stop dragging everyone else into the problems _you_ create."

Takumi looked back at him, white faced.

 _It's a pity,_ Aoi thought. A pity that he was born royal. A pity that he got into one fight too many. The personality beneath that corrupted circumstance had a real strength when not applied to foolishness. As his Captain was being now. "If you want to stop making these impossible decisions. Do something. Don't run away." Slightly more sympathetic he added, "Heaven knows you're better at this 'doing' thing than I am."

He needed to talk to Kuuga. Takumi was born to fight the big battles, the earth-shaking, country moving ones with millions of lives on the line. Him? He had his work cut out for him just keeping the crew in line. He would talk to Kuuga, who would then talk to Kouma and Yuujirou. They were the ones closest to Shousei.

He wondered if they'd ever come to terms with it. With Shousei. His death, and the fact that, if they acted early – before he died – they could surrender him to the Captain to save somebody. _They'd probably have better luck getting through to him than anything I can say._

He had his hand on the door when a memory took hold of him. The strength of it pulled a gasp from his throat. The smell of spring pervaded the air. Aoi fought the urge to sneeze from the phantom pollen.

 _"_ _I'm going to save them. Everyone."_

A young voice, clear and strong. Yet, it still bore a slight tremor, the mark of a man too close to childhood undertaking an impossibly large task.

 _"_ _Sure you will."_ Aoi responded unconsciously, an imitation of a more naive self.

Back then, the words were truth. Now?

The older Aoi mouthed the syllables and they rang with sarcasm.


End file.
